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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516727">All The Places You'll Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle'>mantisbelle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Character Study, Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Post-Coital, Stream of Consciousness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:49:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt has always had a possessive streak. So does Yennefer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All The Places You'll Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He loves seeing her, on mornings like this. He loves the tousled waves of her raven hair, the darkening of a bruise at the hollow of her throat where he’d sucked his love into her skin the night before. She’d cover the mark in due time, with that velvet ribboned choker and its star shaped pendant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d even forgive her for it, for hiding the bruise from the rest of the world. She was a private creature, their union as private a thing as they’re capable of having. He’d forgive her. If she'd marked him, he would have ultimately covered it up somehow as well. Instead of under fine things or jewelry, it would be under armor until it healed away to nothing far too quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it’s a sentimental thing, that thing that makes him almost lament that it will be covered. She likes her secrets, to hide her desires away from the world as though her wardrobe contains universes worth of power. He will never begrudge her that. Never.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She never marks him. She doesn’t have to. The only things that leave marks on his skin anymore are those that he meets in combat. Bites from monsters rather than the indents of teeth left behind by a tactile lover. Scratches down his back smart for a moment but never scar, never have any permanence in the same way that a proper laceration would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bruise on her throat won’t scar either. Geralt still laments that it will disappear from his view, either by healing or covering or magic or even makeup. He still likes that it’s there. He still cannot blame her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a sick part of him, that possessive thing. He’s been possessive of her since the second he met her, but she's been just the same towards him. She’s the one that controlled his mind shortly after their first meeting. But then again, he's the one that used a djinn to tie them together so tightly that only another djinn could sever the bond. They’ve always had this, this terrible need to own the other. It’s awful as much as it is wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes their destinies entwined. Sometimes, he thinks she does too. They’ve gotten good things out of it, as much as their lives were messes because of it. Ciri. Warmth. Connection. Family, for better or for worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt wraps his arms around her, pulls her in close by the waist and she makes a quiet complaint as he does so. She doesn’t try to wriggle away from him though, and so Geralt covers her with himself. He presses more kisses to that perfectly sculpted neck of hers, barely resisting the desire to leave more of himself with her, even though she’s not going anywhere despite having the power to leave with the snap of perfectly shaped fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all of the perfection that is Yennefer, he thinks he loves her imperfections more. He nuzzles against the bruise on her throat once more. Another imperfection, one that's his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stays. There are no threats at Kaer Morhen, apart from his brothers’ cooking and the cold. The food is no concern, as she spells all their meals to deliciousness anyhow. The cold doesn’t matter either, since that’s a problem both of them are capable of fixing should they chose to do so. At some point he is expected to go down to the training yard, or to join the others for a meal, or to patch the eternal scars in Kaer Morhen’s walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody bothers them though. Geralt suspects the others dislike Yennefer, or are at least unsure of her. Eskel’s unlikely to ever place trust in a sorceress, not anymore. Lambert is downright unpleasant to just about everyone he meets, though it’s far from unwarranted. Vesemir simply isn’t a fan of anyone slacking off during the winters when they could have just as easily been carrying their weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they let Yennefer stay. This Geralt is thankful for. He’s going to find ways to repay them for allowing her to infringe upon the peace of their winters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nibbles at Yennefer’s neck, just below her earlobe. Yennefer wriggles against him, craning her neck to get away from his affections with a little laugh that Geralt wishes he could wrap up and keep with him forever. Put it in a bottle so he can listen whenever he desires. He’d do it with her scent too, keep it with him. He wants to carry her eyes like they're amethysts, so he can see them whenever he’s lonely. He wants a pelt of her hair to stroke through when the nights get too cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A witcher doesn’t carry tokens or champion lovers, but she makes him want to be the first. Oh how she makes him want to be the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she complains , pressing her fingers against his cheek as though she’s trying to pry him away from her. “What is it? I’m tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yes, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> early for her. It’s nothing close to the same by a witcher’s standard. If Vesemir had his way Geralt would have dragged himself out of bed hours ago at the asscrack of dawn just like everyone else so that he’d be there to assist in patching the keep’s walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nuzzles into Yennefer’s throat. “It’s almost midday.” He mumbles into her ivory pale skin. His skin is just as pale, but hers lacks the sickly quality left behind by the trials. She’s not washed out by mutagens like he is. She’s crafted as beautifully as a noble girl’s doll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s no doll. No thing he can just own, no thing he can carry with him for when he gets lonely. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
  <em>
    <span>s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the true beauty in her. Yennefer of Vengerberg has </span>
  <em>
    <span>talons</span>
  </em>
  <span> and no fear to sink them into his flesh should she decide it’s necessary to do so. She bites and claws just the same as he does, with all the force and power of nature itself. He likes nature, when it’s not trying to kill him one way or another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer wouldn’t leave him to die of exposure. She would bite and claw but she’d never go for the throat, or the soft underbelly. She’d as easily shelter him in the boughs of her limbs, clean him gentle as rivers, press kisses to his skin like raindrops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he adores her. He adores her with a wholeness he’s never considered himself capable of until the same moment that he’d first met her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer pushes herself upright, still wrapped up in Geralt’s arms. He’s tempted to tighten his grip on her, but lets her move all the same. She leans over his body and looks down at him with those violet eyes of hers that he sees in his dreams most nights. “You know I detest getting up so early, Geralt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” He looks up at her. “There could be food in it for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apple juice?” She teases him. It’s a familiar jest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt considers it. “I think the best we can do is a mulled cider.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer laughs quietly. “Hair of the dog? Or wolf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” Geralt replies. The truth is that alcohol keeps better, but also that once they're in the keep and the sun goes down there’s not much of anything to do around Kaer Morhen. Drinking is as much a witcher’s favorite past time as Gwent or dice simply because that’s all there is to do. One can only swap stories so much before they run out of good material, one can only spar until the body grows tired and aching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer eyes him. “Remind me never to drink with your brothers. I’m not certain my liver can take it.” With that she presses her nails into his arm, just enough to signal that he should free her but also enough to leave crescents in his skin. They’ll fade in moments. Geralt treasures them all the same. “But if there’s a meal and something to drink in the picture, I won’t mind getting up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sits up just as the same as she does, but he sits in the bed a moment too long, watching as she climbs out of bed. Without thinking about it his eyes drift down to the junction of her legs, the pale dribble of dried fluid against the inside of her thigh. He doesn’t know if Yennefer can see it, though he’s sure she feels it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another mark that’ll fade away to nothing. Seed that could never take root. Another thing he can never give her. He loves her all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Feeling amorous this morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Amorous isn’t the word. Geralt doesn’t know that he has a word for what he's feeling. He never does, never has. Never got the vocabulary for it, can’t think of what Jaskier would say to fill in the blanks in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wraps a fur coat around herself, tugging her raven waves out from under the collar so that they fall over it instead. Without another word she picks up a small copper bowl that had been left on the table. Yennefer carries it over to the window which she opens so that she can scoop up snow with the bowl. Once it’s full and the window’s been latched she brings it inside and sets the bowl down on the table. Geralt understands immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer smiles at him, not a hint of venom to be found. “Could you warm that up for me?” She asks him. If she wanted he’d fill a tub for her, but he suspects that she has other plans first. Or maybe she wants to simply rinse off before concerning herself with a full bath. There's better places to go to bathe, ones that don’t require them to haul buckets of water or snow first. “Or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives him no choice but to drag himself up and out of bed with the request. Geralt doesn’t bother with furs, simply pulls on a clean pair of braies and trousers before going to the table and using igni on the bowl as carefully as he can manage. He doesn’t have Eskel’s fine control, he can’t heat a pot of water from the other side of the room without risking something else getting set on fire. He's tried to reach that level of control his whole life. It has always eluded Geralt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer makes herself comfortable at the table while she waits. “I am curious,” She begins, “What you will face once your brothers get sick of your avoiding your workload?'” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt set a soft cloth in the bowl with the heated water. “They’ll find places for you to work too. Vesemir has an amazing gift for inventing chores out of nothing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spent a lot of time doing chores to make up for misdeeds, were we?” Yennefer smiles up at him. “Always misbehaving? Seems like some habits of yours have died hard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nuzzles into her hair. Lilacs and gooseberries, sweat and pleasure and sex. “I’ll have you know that Eskel has always been a bad influence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow that isn’t the impression that I’ve gotten.” Yennefer says, picking up the cloth and wringing out some of the hot water before she begins to clean the mess away from her thighs. His mess, his pleasure, his love. A mark that’ll never stay. “He’s always seemed like the sensible one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t move. “You have a point.” He mumbles against the crown of her head. “He was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer strokes a hand over the curve of his cheek. His stubble prickles under her fingers, and Geralt wonders whether or not he should shave for her sake. She never asks him to, but doesn’t seem to mind when he does shave. “I do prefer you unruly.” She whispers to him, handing off the cloth as she slides the fur coat down over her shoulders to bare them. One slightly higher than the other, skin smooth as silk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the cloth to Yennefer’s spine, feeling for whether she tenses under the touch or not. Yennefer stays still, letting him clean her as quickly as he likes. He’d let her do the same to him, but somehow it feels more intimate the other way around. As a boy Geralt had been poked and prodded at so many times that it’s almost lost its affect. He goes to a brothel for a bath and a girl washes him and that's the norm. He bathes at Kaer Morhen and it’s typical a communal experience and always has been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only one that </span>
  <em>
    <span>asks </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to wash them is Yennefer. He loves that about her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He washes the nape of her neck at the same time that she enchants the bowl so that the water won’t run out or go cold. “Vesemir will make you chop vegetables.” He teases her gently. “Or maybe he’ll put you to work on the walls like the rest of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The animals always need tending to,” Geralt continues on. “And Roach only bites half the time.” That's not a joke. He likes that Roach is stubborn as a mule and ornery as all hell. She’s a proper witcher’s horse. “The goats will need milking, and Eskel’s goat won’t leave you alone while you try to work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer shakes her head. “Am I some goatherd’s daughter?” She replies. “And to think that I’d gotten to the point where I’d never be left to a pig sty again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt dips the cloth into the water again. “Then I suppose it’s fortunate that we don’t have pigs. They eat too much and take too much maintenance when we aren’t here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks back at him. “And the goats don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wild herds.” Geralt says with a shrug. “If we decide to domesticate a few and cut them loose for the summers it doesn’t matter. We usually get some of the same ones back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Usually.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yennefer leans back in her seat as much as she leans into Geralt’s touch. “And if there is no need for me to tend to animals or chop vegetables, what then?” She asks. “Am I to go fishing? Or wash the linens?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt considered Yennefer’s question. “There’s a cave in the corner of the valley,” He says. “One where we grow alchemy ingredients. The mages enchanted it to control the climate.” He leans in close to her, his lips brushing up against the shell of her ear. “Nobody ever goes there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A cave.” Yennefer turns to face him. “Far from your most romantic suggestion, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hollow of a tree.” Geralt kisses her cheek. “In case you forgot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” She hums her assent. “That was a fun one, wasn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer rests her head back against his arm as he continues on cleaning her. “There may be some romance in you yet, Geralt of Rivia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The forge is also warm.” Geralt suggests. “And there's usually nobody there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A blacksmithing fantasy?” She asks. “What two crown novels have you been reading? Should I scold Jaskier for his taste?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt considers the question, just the same as he considers the mental map of the valley that he has. All of the places where he could take her. There are vengeful ideas brewing in his mind, ones so deeply disrespectful to his fallen brothers that he’s sure that Lambert’s thought of them a thousand times before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What sort of friend would be if he used up Lambert’s deepest fantasies before he ever even got a chance for it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer’s eyes slipped closed in comfort. “Where else is there, Geralt?” She asks. Not reading his mind, or perhaps she saw no use in doing as much. “Surely the keep, the forge, and a dirty old cave is not all that there is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a hut by the lake.” Geralt says. “Full of fishing supplies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds cold.” Then she pauses. “When you say full of fishing supplies, do you mean nets and tackle, or do you mean bombs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a good question. It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good question, one that Geralt isn’t confident he has an accurate answer for. A good witcher would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave bombs laying around, but once winter comes around fishing is always Lambert's job, and Lambert takes as much pride as possible in breaking all the rules once he’s home for the winter. Vesemir would never drive Lambert away. It’s an annoying game he plays, but it’s a safe one. The four of them will never be allowed to split in such a preventable way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be both.” Geralt finally says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer tilts her head to the side, almost considering the possibility. “A shack stinking of fish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a boat we could take out.” Geralt adds. “If you don’t mind being up to your ankles in water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “Let me guess. You are witchers, not boat builders?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not masons, cooks, carpenters, or goatherds either.” Geralt adds on. “Or woodcutters, or bakers, or tailors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer twists in her seat to face him directly. “Not whores or washerwomen either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are some whores.” Geralt admits. “Not that any of us have gotten paid for it.” Who he’s referring to, he won’t say. He’s partially referring to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promiscuity is hardly the same thing.” Yennefer jabs at him, a finger to his chest driving her point home. “And I’ll have you know prostitutes make good customers, in my line of work. Most all of them could use help one way or another.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt will never speak poorly of a prostitute. Sometimes, when he’s on The Path it feels like they're the only ones that understand him. That high risk to their bodies, that scorn and lack of appreciation, the people that refuse them pay or insist on underpaying. There’s an odd kinship to be found there, one that Geralt doesn’t often allow himself to dwell upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nuzzles into his hair once more. “I don’t mind them.” He says. “But the point is that we’re witchers. We can’t do everything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And such a shame it is.” Yennefer sighs, finally pulling herself away from him. Apparently she feels that she’s clean enough that she'd be able to go down for a meal without getting too much of his brothers’ scorn. Geralt expects them to wrinkle their noses at him behind her backs anyways. He expects all sorts of jabs and teasing, because that’s what he’d do if it was Lambert or Eskel who brought a lover to winter with them. None of them would tease Vesemir for fear that he’d tan their hides like they were still trainees in retaliation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns to face him and looks up at his face with her soft violet eyes. “Was there anything you needed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He says. “If you’re done—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer stands up, pulling that robe of hers tighter around her body. “I was thinking that breakfast sounded nice. Along with that cider you mentioned.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if there’s going to be chores?” Geralt teases, crossing the room to get at his chest. Inside, under a cover of flower petals (lilacs, Yennefer’s choice) are his clothes. There’s no need for his armor, not when it’s just the few of them tucked away up in the mountains. Practices rarely get any more out of hand than they did when he and Eskel were boys, placed against each other in practice always because that way the instructors never needed to be able to tell which of them was which. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to tell, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as he knows, Yennefer’s never had that. She’s never had that bone-deep closeness, that closer than shield-brothers love. She's never shared blankets to stave off the winter chills, she never had a friend mistaken for her sibling by blood despite there being no chance that’s the case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of him mourns for her, for that lost childhood even though he knows that his childhood was no better. The thing that ties him to Eskel is stolen childhoods as much as it is that horrible trauma, losing the same friends, feeling the same pains in the same moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s better this way, Geralt thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches him from her seat though, no sign that she’s reading him in any way other than simply looking at his face. “I think I’ll take the chores over being hungry at this point. Besides, how are you meant to get away with disappearing for so long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to.” Geralt tugs on a clean pair of trousers. “But that’s just how things go here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to pull on a shirt when she winds herself up around him, arms around his waist, soft fingertips smoothing over his scarred skin. The fur of her coat tickles as it brushes ever so lightly against him. Geralt barely suppresses a shiver, one which Yennefer notices so fully its nearly shameful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am glad you asked me to join you here.” Yennefer speaks into his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the blade. “To think that I could have spent the season doing party tricks for money. And instead I get to be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt places a hand over top of one of Yennefer’s. “Not party tricks.” He offers as his only consolation. He allows the touch to linger for a moment, drinking in the warmth and the contact for as long as he can before he finally pulls his shirt on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s dressed herself, but the fur stays. Geralt has half a mind to see to it that he gets her wearing nothing but the furs later on. He wants to spread her out in her furs in front of a fire and make love to her until the sunrise. Perhaps it’s decadent, the sort of thing straight out of those two crown romances that Jaskier likes, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants it the same way as he wants everything else when it comes to Yennefer. Wholly, if a little irrationally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breakfast.” She sighs against his shoulder. “And cider.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you wish.” Geralt says, and then he’s tugging her along behind him so that they can go down to the kitchen in the hopes that there'll be something left from breakfast that hasn’t gone too cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing that greets them when they arrive is Lambert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at Geralt and Yennefer, lips curling back in a sort of disgust after a moment before he decides to make his remark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really couldn’t help yourselves but stay in bed all damn day, huh?” He prods at Geralt. “Not like the rest of the world has fucking jobs to do or anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer smiles at Lambert, viper sharp and vicious enough to match. “Careful Lambert,” she teases him. ”One might start to think you’re jealous.“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert shouts an obscenity and storms off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stares at Yennefer and feels yet another impossibly strong swell of love build up in his chest. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come and talk, if you'd like.</p><p>
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